


Autumn Leaves Burn on the Breeze

by DinosaurTheology



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hope, Hope vs. Despair, Hopeful Ending, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: Two damaged, lonely people and an irrepressible young girl hover together after the end of all things.





	Autumn Leaves Burn on the Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short lil story. This movie was good--so good--and I'm gonna see it so many more times. I love Natasha and Bruce's respect and quiet affection for each other. Marvel is so wonderful at humanizing these larger than life characters.

“And for our next class, Dr. Bruce, we shall cover the use of a quantum entanglement drive to mimic the effects of more stereotypically 'futuristic' engines and by ships like the Milano while being more than two hundred percent more energy efficient.” Shuri gathers her books, notebooks and palm-sized computer, beams at him with a wide smile and adoring dark eyes. She is so young, so vital. So alive.

Bruce offers her a weak smile of his own. “That sounds wonderful, Shuri. I like the concept, I really do, but you're gonna have to sell me on it. I mean, the quantum entanglement drive would work much more efficiently than Rocket's hyper-light thrusters if you can make them work but with the current technology...” He shrugs. “ I just honestly don't see it happening.”

She giggles. “Oh, Dr. Banner, there is much you don't see. But I will show you, I promise.” She dips in a quick, graceful curtsey and skips—literally skips—from the room.

Natasha Romanov unfolds from the corner where she has been lounging and drapes her lithe body across the chair that Shuri has until recently occupied. She smiles. “That's an impertinent little imp, isn't it?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Shuri?”

“The same. I was taught that elders and teachers were worthy of a little respect, at least.”

“To be fair you were raised under the aegis of a brutal dictatorship.”

“To be fair. And still I turned out the classy and fashionable young woman you see before you.”

He ponders a moment. “It's not that she doesn't respect me,” he says, “just that she shows it in a different way than you're used to. It's the way T'challa showed her, the way I've shown her, now. I'd be a poor teacher if I expected something different from her.”

“And you are anything but that.”

“Hmm?”

“A poor teacher. You have taught her so much since... well, since it happened. I am amazed that either of you has been overwhelmed.”

“You think that I'm not overwhelmed, Nat?” He laughs. It's not bitter—he swears it to any and all listening gods—just... “Well, I am a teacher by trade, after all. I'd be a poor one indeed if a pupil as wonderful as Shuri couldn't make me look almost competent, wouldn't you agree?”

“Perhaps,” she says. Those perfect lips, the best feature on a peerless face, quirk in a wistful smile. “A teacher by trade.”

He shrugs and rubs his eyes. “Yeah. I mean, I guess, research was my main occupation, technically, and since the Other Guy came into my life things have mostly kinda been on hold with all that but... yeah. Teaching, molding young minds and seeing them fly free... that was always my greatest passion.”

“A teacher. “ The smile—more of a smirk, really, though it remains radiant on her—has not faded.

“That's me,” he says. “A humble pedagogue.” 

“You're the best of us, Dr. Bruce Banner.”

“Really?” He scratches at curls gone mostly grey and in some places just... gone. “Why do you say that?” Cause, I mean, Steve totally has the best beard, at least. And I think that Thor probably has the best hair and certainly the best shoulders. And Tony has the best--”

“That's not what I mean and you know it,” she says. Her voice has taken a thin, cold edge.

“Then what do you mean, Nat? How is a, let's face it, sort of schlubby scientist with a peptic ulcer and the planet's worst anger management problem the best of Earth's Mightiest Heroes?”

“Because you are the only one of us that was not made for this life or did not choose it. This madness...” She shakes her head. “This madness chose you, Bruce.”

“Not me,” he says. “Not really.. The Other Guy.”

“That's exactly what I mean.” She cups his chin in her fingers, studies his whiskey dark eyes for a long moment. “Where would you be right now? If you could choose any place in the world?”

“Just the world?” He chuckles. “I feel like you're limiting me, Miss Romanov.” 

“Fine, the universe, then,” she says. “The cosmos. A multiverse. Where would you choose?”

“My lab, I guess,” he says. “It wasn't much, not by MIT standards, but I was comfortable. I could do work there.”

“That's why you're different.”

He shrugs. “If not my lab then maybe my study at home.” Just curl up in front of the fire place, in my nice, comfortable leather chair with a good book and a cup of hot tea.”

She almost purrs. “That sounds marvelous, Bruce.”

“What about you? If you could be absolutely anywhere?”

She considers the question for a few instants that stretcher into eternity. “I don't know,” she says. “Somewhere cool. I've never been one for hot weather.”

“I know a place like that,” he says. “Wonderful little cabin on a lake in upstate New York. There's good fishing, if you enjoy that kind of thing, and appling in the Fall. They have a cider making festival just about then and when the leaves turn...” He heaves a beatific sigh. “Trees just blaze across the night sky. I cannot imagine any place more beautiful.”

“You have a way with words,” she says. “I'd love to see it someday.”

“I'll take you,” he says. “We'll make a weekend of it.” She murmurs assent even though each of them knows they'll never make it. Those are not the kind of people they are, the kind who go on weekends where there are sweet apples crushed into tangy cider and autumn leaves burn on the breeze, where bonfires warm the cool, snapping night. They are not those people and these are not the times they are living in. It is a sweet fantasy, though, tart and luscious. It surely cannot hurt to indulge in just one fantasy while they nestle together in the unraveling of a world, can it?


End file.
